


The Five Stages Of Grief

by brionyjae



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brionyjae/pseuds/brionyjae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto must deal with the absence of Jack in the only way he knows how. Involves Coffee! Borrowing Kubler-Ross' Five Stages Of Grief. Set between S1 and S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Stages Of Grief

_  
Part I: Denial   
_

Ianto didn't even like Starbucks coffee.

It wasn't worth the brash costs. And it tasted like someone had used stale coffee beans, burnt them – and the milk – thrown in endless spoons of sugar to try and disguise it, and not cleaned their machine's filter. Ever.

And then served it to Ianto.

But all the coffee in the Hub's kitchenette had tumbled and spilt from the cupboards when... when they'd opened the rift. When the Hub had been damaged.

When they'd betrayed Jack. _He'd_ betrayed Jack.

During the few days that Jack had been... out of action, Ianto just couldn't force himself to leave the Hub, to replenish the stocks. There was more than enough to do, anyway. Clean. Try to forget what he'd had done.

Dare to hope.

Jack always did like Ianto's coffee the most out of all of them.

But Jack came back to life – and amidst all of the paperwork and cleanup, and the _regret_ – and fear? – Ianto couldn't even begin to imagine Jack's feelings towards him... and so Ianto did the only thing he could think of.

He got coffee. Even if it was the blend of desperation.

And now Jack was gone. Again.

 _Something's taken him. Jack's gone._

Gwen's words chilled Ianto's bones, but didn't seem to reach his brain. Snapping himself out of the stupor that had befallen them all, Ianto cleared his throat and took one of the Starbucks cups out of the cardboard travelling holder. He passed it to Gwen, who took it absently, still gazing around the Hub.

Ianto took the other, still holding his own, and crossed the Hub to Jack's office. Placed Jack's coffee on the desk, neatly on a coaster next to the messy pile of thumbed-through paperwork. He straightened the pile, of course.

Taking a measured sip of his own coffee – and swallowing as quickly as possible – Ianto leaned against his usual spot on the desk, his back to the door.

And he waited. Entirely still, save for the movements required of drinking that awful coffee.

"Ianto?" Tosh's tentative voice reached his ears, but he didn't turn. How long had he been here? Did he even care?

"We've... we've done a scan for rift activity, for the time span that we were out getting coffee. We didn't find anything," Tosh let out a disgruntled huff. "But... Gwen said that she heard a noise... like a type of machine, like... like a ship taking off."

Ianto's back flinched ever so slightly, and his fingers faltered on the styrofoam cup.

This – _this_ was not happening.

"Ianto... he's gone. Jack's gone."

Soft footsteps came closer, and Ianto pushed himself around to finally face Tosh. There was uncertainty etched into her expression – and something akin to pity.

"We don't know that for sure." Ianto's voice sounded gravelly to his own ears – must be that coffee, tasted enough like dirt. "We can check the CCTV footage, we'd be able to see if Jack left the Hub."

Tosh dropped her gaze to the floor, her fingers steepled awkwardly.

"We have. He... I think you'd better see for yourself." Tosh stepped forwards to hold Ianto's forearm. He set his empty coffee cup next to Jack's full – and cold – cup, and let Tosh pull him to her computer. She started playing the CCTV footage covering just outside the Hub, but Ianto only needed to see a few seconds.

That blue Police Box was one of a kind.

The computer screen began to shake – were they still having aftershocks from the rift? – but as Ianto lowered his eyes to his hands, he saw that they were trembling too. His whole body. Balling his fingers into fists helped marginally – but didn't completely fix it.

"Ianto... sweetheart..." Gwen was there suddenly, at his side – crowding him, closing in. Ianto looked up to see Owen as well – standing a distance off, but eyes on him. A silent vigilance. Tosh's hold on his arm tightened slightly.

All waiting for Ianto to speak.

"He'll be back," Ianto heard himself saying. "Jack wouldn't leave us. He'll be back."

His voice echoed around the empty Hub – empty of Jack's warmth.

"He just... vanished," Tosh said softly. "Gone."

"No." Ianto shook his head, blurring more of his vision as his head swiped from side to side. "He _will_ be back." Ianto cleared his throat, trying to regain his control, set his mask back into place. He turned on his heel, escaping from Tosh's grasp.

"Ianto? Are – are you okay?" Gwen called out from over his shoulder.

Ianto stopped briefly, painting on a smile and looking back at them.

"I'm fine. I just need to tidy up the paperwork."

He inclined his head fractionally, smiling into all of their faces – amateur mixtures of sympathy, worry... and a kind of numbness.

Showing the emotions that he wouldn't allow himself to show – to feel, even.

Ianto shut Jack's office door behind him, and he got to work tidying the desk, and completing the paperwork accordingly. He heard the faint sounds of the cog wheel opening and closing – one, two, and finally three times.

He was alone.

That night – or, technically morning – after Ianto had finished the paperwork, he descended into Jack's quarters. The bed sheets were clean and cold; Ianto had changed them while Jack had been... in the morgue. Just in case. Now Ianto was cursing the fact.

Well.

Ianto stripped to his boxers and crawled into Jack's bed. Jack hated sleeping in a cold bed – or so he proclaimed to Ianto in an incredibly lame attempt at a pick up line. But Ianto could warm up the bed for Jack, so that when he got back – no doubt ready for bed – Jack would be happy.

Just like Ianto would wake up early to buy some more of Jack's industrial strength coffee – Jack could never function before he'd drank some.

Just like Ianto would wear Jack's favourite red tie tomorrow.

* * *

 _  
Part II: Anger   
_

"Oi, Ianto? Have you found them yet?"

Owen's yell was strong enough to reach Ianto in Jack's office, and Ianto let the pile of papers that he was holding drop onto the desk, taking a small amount of satisfaction from the resounding 'thud!' they made.

"If I'd found them, you'd have them already!" Ianto screwed up his eyes and tried to shout calmly – if such an oxymoron was possible – but it was difficult.

They'd been trying to figure out the exact functions of an artefact which had fallen through the rift. Tosh swore that she'd seen one before, but only briefly before Jack had snatched it away into his office. Clearly, it was dangerous – something which made the fact that they now had one in their possession a lot more work. Tosh was sure that Jack had a file on it somewhere, but not in the Archives – Ianto would know if they had. And so the job of looking through Jack's personal files landed with _him._ Naturally.

The filing expert. And, supposedly, the _Jack_ expert.

Ianto had been searching for well over thirty minutes through Jack's personal files – that only _Jack_ was allowed to touch. His desk drawers, his private filing cabinet – a complete and utter bomb site compared with the Archives – but Ianto was having no luck. They weren't even in any obvious order, what with random blueprints shoved in the same folder as old newspaper articles.

"We need that file before we can do anything with this," Owen continued yelling from his medical bay. "We don't even know what it's going to do, or anything!"

"Well why don't _you_ come up here and try and find it then!" Ianto was near the end of his tether, and he abruptly made the decision that they – _himself_ especially – needed coffee. Ianto swept out of the office, past Tosh and Gwen. They were both looking at him with wide eyes – he didn't suppose they'd heard him shout like that before, at least not in the Hub, outside of a mission.

Barring Lisa, of course.

Ianto ignored them, and strode into the kitchenette, clenching his jaw tighter. He set to work with the coffee machine, gathering up mugs for them all. His hand automatically reached for Jack's navy blue mug, and he even pulled it out of the cupboard and set it on the bench. He wasn't going to pour coffee into it though – not this time. He'd forced himself to stop about a week after Jack left.

Jack.

Jack _fucking_ Harkness. Leaving them all to grope through the darkness, guessing their way through missions and aliens and artefacts and rift activity. Bluffing through their job to protect the city, Cardiff – the world.

Leaving Ianto to search through his shit, and take Owen's crap, Gwen's see-through smile and Tosh's well-meaning pity.

Leaving Ianto all alone.

Ianto suddenly caught up Jack's mug in his hand, and with a deliberate preciseness, he spun on his heel and hurled the mug at the opposite wall using all the strength he could muster.

He felt rather than heard the collective intake of breath from the rest of the team. No one dared to speak, allowing the stunned silence to sweep over Ianto and press onto his shoulders, slumping them. Not a relaxing motion though – his body was left taut and frozen.

Crossing the kitchenette stiffly, Ianto bent down to pick up the pieces of shattered porcelain. He never could leave a mess. Ianto couldn't help flexing his fingers into fists, and a large shard sunk into his palm, piercing his skin cleanly. Red blood began to surface and drip over his hand, smattering the broken pieces irregularly. An opposition of navy blue and red.

Oh shit.

Before Ianto could respond to this, though, he became aware of someone standing in the kitchenette's doorway. He raised his head, sticking out his chin, but blinked when he saw that it was Owen.

 _Owen_ , of all people.

And the look on his face – it was almost unreadable. It was an odd combination of anger and – something else. But Ianto got the feeling that the anger wasn't directed at him.

He jerked his head in a direction behind him.

"Here. I'll see if you need stitches."

Ianto seriously considered refusing the offer – he was supposed to be mad at Owen, after all – but the retort choked itself in his throat. Instead, he merely stood up mechanically and strode straight past Owen to the medical bay.

He perched himself on the autopsy table – not the perfect seat, but it would have to be adequate – and stared sullenly at the concrete floor as Owen rattled around his bench. Ianto almost jumped when Owen took his cut hand to carefully examine it.

"It's not too deep, but deep enough to need stitches." Ianto could feel Owen's eyes burning through his face. He could also picture Owen rolling said eyes before he stepped to his bench – still cradling Ianto's hand – and tapping a needle to rid it of the air.

"I don't need anaesthetic," Ianto grumbled, trying to twitch his hand away. But a short shot of pain riddled his palm, and he couldn't stop a wince tarnishing his scowl.

"Just shut up and take it." Owen waited for a moment, while Ianto bit his tongue, and then pierced Ianto's palm with a prick.

 _Just take it_. That was exactly what Ianto _had_ been doing – and he was sick of it. Jack fucking Harkness. Ianto's fingers began to reflexively curl into fists.

"Uh, Ianto, mate? Kinda need you to keep your hand flat here."

Ianto's eyes flickered over to his palm, where Owen had begun stitching up the gash.

"Right," he spat out to his knees.

Silence, save the slight click of the needle and the stretch of synthetic thread.

"Ianto?" He heard Owen swallow, Ianto still unable to meet his eyes. "Er, don't worry about finding that file. I reckon we can just shove that artefact somewhere secure and leave it for Jack to sort out, when he gets back, I mean."

Ianto barely suppressed a snort – it would have been undignified not to. Owen seemed to interpret his expression as such though.

"Like you said... Jack will be back. Eventually." Ianto imagined Owen's crooked smile, and he wanted to give him one of his own – he really did – but could only manage a smile laced with a bitter poison.

"Well, I was wrong. This is Jack we're talking about. He is forever waltzing in and out of our cases, never telling us where he's going or where he's been. This is no different – except this time, he won't be coming back."

Owen pulled the final stitch through Ianto's skin, marking an end to Ianto's biting speech. He brushed his fingers lightly over the stitches on Ianto's hand before letting go, taking a step backwards to return his instruments to his bench.

"There. All fixed."

Ianto rolled his eyes – _all fixed_. Nothing had ever been further from the truth. He swung his legs to help himself jump off the autopsy table, taking a moment to regain his balance. Hmmm. Maybe that anaesthetic was spreading. Ianto gave a stiff nod to Owen by way of thanks, and started to make his way up the stairs.

"And... Ianto?"

Ianto looked over his shoulder at Owen, frowning, and finally met Owen's eyes.

Still that odd gleam.

"Next time you're angry at Jack... don't go injuring yourself, alright? I'm sure you can find more... productive ways of getting it out."

This time Ianto didn't have to imagine that crooked grin – and indeed, it was different to Owen's usual grin. This one wasn't cynical, ironic, sarcastic...

It was genuine.

"I'll try my best," Ianto let out a long breath, and marched back up the stairs.

Back to work.

* * *

 _  
Part III: Bargaining   
_

Ianto took time especially out of his own lunch break – as far as he got a lunch break at Torchwood – to go and buy a brand new, identical coffee mug to replace Jack's broken one. Striding through the shops in his suit, wearing a deep red shirt with a black satin tie. Jack would have appreciated it.

He looked through rows and rows of mugs – but he didn't want any of those. No. He needed Jack's mug.

Fifteen shops, three disgruntled sales assistants (well, Ianto said assistants – they didn't actually _assist_ him at all) and forty minutes later, Ianto had found it.

Jack's mug.

Exactly the same one, same shade of navy blue, same handle shape.

To replace the broken one.

But this one... Jack had never cradled between his soft hands. Never raised it to his lips and sighed gratefully at Ianto's labour. Too sterile, cold – identical to the rest.

It wasn't Jack's.

But – Ianto told himself – it would be. If Jack came back, then he would have the same mug to come back to, and he would make the mug his – it would be warm, unique.

Ianto mulled over stopping by the stunning coffee boutique that sold – in Ianto's opinion – the best coffee in the whole of Cardiff. It's where he got Jack's industrial strength coffee, saved for special or necessary occasions. He needed to stock up. For when Jack got back.

Although, he'd already been longer than he would have liked – leaving the others to run wild in the Hub was never something that Ianto was fully comfortable about. What if they touched his Archives? During the last few weeks, he'd spent every waking moment he could down there, utterly turning the place into perfection. Even though it pretty much already was. But there had been _a lot_ to deal with after... after Abaddon. And before Abaddon, actually.

Ianto had even tidied the stacks of paper found on Jack's desk. Jack had been forever trying to persuade him to tidy them for him, because Jack could never find anything there. Of course, Jack's drawers and filing cabinet were out of bounds – well, were _meant_ to have been – but the papers on his desk roamed freely – too freely, according to Ianto. He'd always refused to do it, because it would just get messy again by the next day.

But Jack wasn't here to mess it up. And so the papers were stacked, folded, neatly in sorted piles. Daring someone to shuffle them, to push them aside.

It had to be perfect. _He_ had to be.

And so Ianto needed to get that coffee.

When Ianto returned to the Hub, the rest of the team's eyes lit up at the sight of the coffee boutique paper bag. Obviously they had come to recognise that this meant they were in for the good stuff. Ianto disappeared into the kitchenette and debated keeping the coffee up on the shelf – saving it – because he didn't want to run out of it.

But... if he brewed it...

The aroma just might lure Jack home.

* * *

 _  
Part IV: Depression   
_

It was difficult for Ianto to decide whether the sound of the cog wheel exit – one, two, three times – every night was the best sound he'd heard all day, or the worst sound.

Best, because he was alone.

Worst, because he was alone.

Honestly, Ianto had no idea if the others knew he was living at the Hub or not. He found that as time went on, he didn't particularly care. Too beyond that, too far gone to turn back.

That particular night, Ianto was brewing up some coffee. It wasn't like he was going to bed anytime soon – what was the point if he couldn't sleep? His first sip, however, left him wishing desperately that it was something stronger. He supposed he could have snuck into Jack's whiskey... but it didn't quite seem right.

So there Ianto was. Dully drinking coffee, staring blankly at a mountain of papers that didn't need any more tidying.

And then he heard it, again. The cog wheel.

For the fourth time.

A second of absolute silence – Ianto strained his ears to hear footsteps, but it was hard over the thumping of his heart – before Ianto leapt up from where he'd been sitting in Jack's office. Grace and poise forgotten, he dashed out of the office, eyes wide and darting around wildly.

Skidded to a halt. Heart being thrown into his throat, choking him.

"Ianto! I'm sorry, did I startle you? I just left my cellphone here, is all."

It was Gwen.

His heart seemed to freefall to his feet, a lump taking its former place in his throat.

"Ianto? Are... are you okay? I didn't mean to give you a fright." Gwen picked up her cellphone from her desk and took a tentative step towards him, her eyes.

"I – I'm fine. Just didn't expect anyone back at this time." Ianto tried to smile at her, he really did. But Gwen was becoming a bit blurry around the edges; Ianto blinked a few times. He shoved his hands behind his back to hide the tremble.

"O...Okay then," Gwen lifted her mouth into a careful smile, still coming closer to Ianto. His vision was a bit clearer now, so he could see the way her head dipped ever so slightly, the way her eyes shone with sympathy.

"Don't stay too much longer, eh?"

She took another step and engulfed Ianto in a hug before he could dodge out of it. But... it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. In fact... Ianto actually welcomed it. All Jack's fault, of course. Finally prising Ianto open so that he didn't flinch at human contact – and so that he could actually initiate it – and then dropping off the face of the earth (Ianto was trying to hold back the addition of 'literally').

Leaving Ianto with no one to hold onto.

"Thanks, Gwen," Ianto gave her another half smile as she stepped back, releasing him from her arms. She smiled back, genuinely, but Ianto could spot the crinkles of a worried frown around her eyes. However, Gwen didn't say anything more, and turned to leave again – again, the sound of the cog wheel haunting Ianto as he robotically returned to Jack's office.

This time, though, he descended straight down to Jack's quarters. The blurring vision was back – but Ianto just bit his lip. How could he fight it – why should he?

There was no point.

Ianto took measured steps to Jack's bed – he'd always thought that it was remarkably small for a man like Jack, but now it looked far too big. Too empty. He took off his shoes, trousers, waistcoat, tie and shirt – undressing down to just his boxers – and neatly laid them on the floor. Ianto then lowered himself onto Jack's bed and drew the blankets completely over him.

Not for the first time – and it certainly wouldn't be the last – Ianto cursed himself for having changed the sheets. Normally, the unique smell of Jack pervaded the fabric, not to mention the man himself radiating it. But now... there was nothing.

Cold, white sheets. A pillow that was too soft – far softer than Jack's chest. Only the twist of blankets to hold him – no secure arms.

A gasping choke made its way out of Ianto, and he turned to press his face into the pillow. To be silent. He kept his eyes tightly shut – he could almost ignore the blurring vision then. There was no ignoring the slowly dampening pillow though.

No point at all.

The next day, Ianto took the replacement navy blue coffee mug that he'd brought for Jack, and dragged himself out of the Hub. He walked straight to the wharf, leant on the railing, and dropped the mug into the water without stopping to think.

* * *

 _  
Part V: Acceptance   
_

Ianto could hear the reassuring murmur of voices from the Boardroom, and he smiled slightly to himself. He finished off the frothy milk on the tops of the coffees, and placed the five mugs neatly on a tray. And then – he strode into the Boardroom.

Gwen and Tosh first – each giving their quiet thanks. Then Owen – who actually nodded amiably at Ianto, what a surprise. Ever since he stitched Ianto up – somehow managing to stitch up more than Ianto's palm – he'd been more tolerable towards Ianto. A lot more, in fact.

Two mugs left.

Ianto stepped carefully down to the head of the table, and raised his head to look straight into the eyes of Jack. This was their first proper meeting in the Boardroom since he'd got back. Since he'd sauntered into that house and shot the blowfish – since his infuriatingly attractive ex had arrived on the scene to cause nothing but trouble.

It had been hard – but it was all so _Jack_. The dramatic entrance, the casual small talk. And yet... he was different. He'd changed, somehow – and he had been willing to really try and make it up to Ianto.

And Ianto had accepted that.

He couldn't _not_.

Besides, it hadn't started off too badly, in Ianto's opinion. Especially when he remembered back to last night... oh yeah. That was utterly too good _not_ to count as progress.

"Your coffee, sir," Ianto smiled properly, and took Jack's mug to hand to him. His new mug. It was white with blue stripes, a much lighter blue than the previous navy colour.

Jack grinned at Ianto and reached out to take the mug. Their fingers brushed each other's, and Ianto held onto the mug, lingering over the warmth of Jack's skin. Their gazes locked, and for the briefest, sweetest moment, the Boardroom was invisible. Tosh, Owen, Gwen – all nonexistent for that one moment.

Just Ianto and Jack.

"Thanks, Ianto," Jack said softly, and took a sip without breaking eye contact. Something warm slipped down Ianto's own throat, heating his heart.

Oh yes. This new mug was truly Jack's mug.

The blue stripes matched Jack's eyes perfectly.

* * *

 **-End.**


End file.
